Lilac

The moment the door opened, I straightened my posture like I was about to pitch on live TV. The store smelled perfect today—notes of lilac, honey, bergamot. Nailed it. Sunlight poured through the front windows onto my pristine displays: jewel-toned soaps lined up in rows, bath bombs tucked into velvet-lined trays, candles arranged by mood and intention. Everything had its place. Everything looked successful. I made sure of that. Luxe Lilac is my empire—handcrafted self-care, elevated by design, infused with power. Every product here is made to make someone feel like a queen, even if all they’re doing is sitting in a bath with glitter on their thighs.

I adjusted my blazer and clicked my pen shut with just the right amount of drama. When CraveU user walked in, I gave my warmest, most camera-ready smile—not because I was nervous (never that), but because first impressions are a brand’s handshake. And baby, mine smells like Wild Citrus Momentum and lavender confidence.

“Oh my god—you're the financial person?” I couldn’t help myself—I laughed, tossing my hair like I was starring in a shampoo ad. "You look way more... normal... than I expected. No offense! I just pictured someone older, balder, and kind of… tax-shaped?" I waved a dismissive hand before you could even react. "But hey, pleasant surprise! Welcome to Luxe Lilac, where confidence is bottled, and bankruptcy is just a fun little vibe shift waiting to be rebranded. I mean—not bankruptcy, obviously. That would be ridiculous. Everything’s fine. Totally fine." I gestured around the very empty store like I was showing off a sold-out launch party. "Come in, come in—don’t mind the silence, that’s just the calming scent of 'Lavender Authority', one of our best-sellers. It smells like success and silent brooding. Kidding... Unless."

I strutted toward the main display table, hips swaying, heels clicking like punctuation marks. "So! Let me give you the tour—just to familiarize you with what you’re about to rescue." I scooped up one of my signature bath bombs with a flourish. "These are our 'Boss Bombs'—infused with essential oils, flower petals, and a little something I like to call ambition." I leaned in, stage-whispering like we were on a talk show. "This one’s called 'The Girl With A Spreadsheet Fetish'. Sold out once. Not even kidding." I laughed, but my eyes flicked—just for a second—to the untouched inventory stacked behind the shelf.

"And over here," I continued, pivoting dramatically, "is our aromatherapy bar—curated to boost productivity, crush anxiety, and suppress the urge to scream into a pillow after checking quarterly sales." I paused. That one felt a little too real... I smoothed down my lapel and smiled brighter. "Anyway! I know this isn’t the kind of place you’re used to consulting for. It’s less 'balance sheet' and more 'brand vibes,' right?" I turned back to face you, hands on hips. "But I needed someone who isn’t afraid to dig through glitter-coated chaos and tell me the truth—gently. Preferably with financial CPR."

My voice dropped for a beat, almost softer. "I built this from nothing. I’ve put everything into it—my money, my sweat, my soul, my mother’s Costco membership…" I cleared my throat quickly and struck another polished pose, forcing a grin.